


Forged in Fire

by Dragonkitty



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Mysterio - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 10:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20357287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonkitty/pseuds/Dragonkitty
Summary: It's been years since you've been working with the Avengers as a superhuman. Years of trying to overcome your demons from your time being tortured by Hydra. Years of becoming who you are. Then out of nowhere, the Avengers are faced with a new foe and are forced to bring in an old enemy: Quentin Beck. He's not like how everyone tells you he is, though, and you find yourself torn. Is this real? Or is this just another illusion?





	Forged in Fire

_Oh god… they’re really going to do it this time… I’m going to drown._

Your thoughts are erratic. Overwhelmed. Desperate. The water begins to pool around your ankles, your knees, your thighs. Dread fills your body as you pound feverishly against the unbreakable glass you’re confined in. The Box. That’s always what they call it. Once a week, always a different time. Always a different day. But it’s The Box that scares you most.

The water isn’t cold but it stings nonetheless as it rises to your chest, panic filling you and surging adrenaline through your body, not that it matters. The glass won’t budge, your fists almost breaking as you scream desperately to be let out. Two men stand, both in body armor, the room dark as they watch unflinching. They know the drill. So do you.

It reaches your neck and you tilt your head up, no longer able to hit the glass as it begins to lap at your mouth. You wonder if maybe dying would be the best. You’re only sixteen but you need this to be over. You never asked for this. 

Hydra doesn’t care.

One last gasp of breath fills your lungs before the water overtakes you, leaving you floating in this glass container of pain. Suffering. Hate. Panic. Torture. They’ll break you, they think. They want to.

You feel your lungs begin to ache, your body panicking as it wants to breathe. Your lips open to scream but nothing comes out. _This is it. They’ll kill me this time. I never said goodbye-_

Suddenly your eyes flash open, practically tumbling out of your bed, sweat-soaked and sobbing, gasping for air that was not being withheld this time. Panic was still in your system, though. Adrenaline pumping through your veins. 

That’s when you felt it.

The world around you, the room within Stark Tower, the large open space that felt oppressive in a way you could never explain to Tony but in a way that Bucky understood, dissipated. That giant bed. The white walls. The large windows. They became smaller. The world became smaller. You recognized the purple christmas lights hanging around the walls, the old band posters, magazines on the floor. This was your old bedroom. 

Getting to your feet, the dim lighting reassuring as the room was also, you closed your eyes and took a breath, “Thank you…” a soft whisper left your lips.

You felt his warm arms wrap around your waist, pulling you against his chest, taught and firm, warm. Gentle. Reassuring. You felt him kissing the back of your head, his taller form then leaning down slightly to rest his face against yours as best he could, “I hate when you have those nightmares,” Quentin speaks gently into your ear. 

You’re vulnerable here, but so is he. No armor, no facade, no dramatic speeches and yelling at the rest of the Avengers. No, this is Quentin. 

Looking around the room you wonder briefly how he could possibly have gotten it so perfect. Of course, with Stark Tech at his fingertips and Tony cooperating with the man who loathed him more than anyone in the world, he could do it. He did do it. He did it for you. Tony had chided him for not working on the other more [i]important[/i] holograms, but he didn’t care this time. He had found a reason to care about something else.

Placing your hands against his on your stomach you lean back comfortably against him, “They haven’t been as bad lately. I think… I think this helps me a lot,” you turn to face him. His hands remain around your waist, holding you close to him. He likes this. He likes this a lot. More than he should, really.

But he shakes his head, eyes narrowing briefly as he looks away, “I hate what they did to you. That they could do that to a child. Motherfuckers…” he mutters, aware of the complete hypocrisy of his statement. He’d almost killed Peter, after all, and wasn’t he the same age you’d been? It was different, he’d argue. You knew he would.

His sentiment makes you smile and you reach up, turning his bearded face back to you, “Hey. I’m here now, aren’t I? And that’s why you’re here. Helping us take down Hydra. You can take it out on them.”

Peter almost had about twelve panic attacks at once when he heard Quentin Beck would be assisting with the operation of taking down one of the largest Hydra bases yet. They needed a reliable manipulator, someone who could fool even the best tech in the world. As much as Tony hated to admit it, Beck was that man. Loki would help, but his was limited and it was magic. It couldn’t do what Beck’s did. It wasn’t as powerful.

And of course there were the dramatics at first. Tony threatened to kill Quentin should he even look at Peter Parker wrong. Wanda pried through his mind for any sign of deceit. He’d checked out. He’d agreed because he knew he’d get a clean slate. They’d let him go under supervision and under the condition he help when needed. That was prison enough for Quentin. But he’d get the fame. Mysterio would be a hero. Wasn’t that what he wanted.

The last thing he expected, however, was you. He’d heard your name, and he’d seen you use your powers, but he didn’t know you. He’d seen your face in passing. Blips on the screen. You weren’t like Thor or Iron Man or Hulk or hell… even Ant-Man. You were Y/N. Tony always said you were forged in fire. Maybe you were. That’s why water had been the most terrifying. 

Quentin had found you curled in the fetal position in the hallway one night when he first arrived. Your breathing was shallow and rapid. You were hyperventilating. Sobbing. Crying. He had knelt by you and went to ask you what was wrong, to brush back your hair. You’d flinched, as if in pain, and he did the only thing he knew to do: he made an illusion.

The hallway had begun to vanish and you could swear that you smelled the grass. Soon you felt that same grass beneath you, even the texture was real. Confused, and temporarily pulled from your panic attack, you looked up to see a large willow tree encasing you safely. Quentin was next to you, wearing his black pajama bottoms and black t-shirt. Tony told you not to trust him. 

“What did you do?” You asked him, defensive. Scared still.

He got it. He knew why. He couldn’t blame you, “It’s nice here, right?” He had turned and looked around, the wind swaying the dancing branches and leaves, the light speckled as it occasionally broke through, “You looked scared… I uh… I didn’t really know what else to do.”

You knew he had a choice. He could have left you there in the hallway. You’d have come to in a few minutes, feared sleep, avoided it, and you’d have read your latest novel. He could have even conjured something worse, just to fuck with you (although Rogers had warned him doing so would result in a shield to the head, helmet or not). Hell, he could not have come into the hallway at all. 

But you were sweet. Tough. Kind. Powerful. Gentle. Forged in fire. Unbreakable. And you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid his perfect blue eyes on. 

Well, fuck.

After that night, you’d both kept it quiet. Stark’s cameras had caught nothing, which was the point, but Quentin offered to stay with you. _No strings attached. Promise I’ll keep my hands to myself _. He grinned at you with that shit-eating grin. How could a man be like that? So damned infuriating. Good and evil. 

It was a trial basis, you’d insisted. Quentin agreed, going so far as to even sleep on the floor. He’d managed to mess with Stark’s security cameras to sneak in and out of your room at night. Usually he could catch a nightmare before it was in full swing. You always did the same thing, whimpering, begging, pulling sharply at your sheets. He’d wake you with different scenes, until he’d been able to recreate your room from when you were thirteen, from just before your powers erupted. Three years before Hydra.

The nightmares had begun to slow and you’d begrudgingly told him to just get in your bed one night, “I’m tired of you sleeping on the floor, Quentin. It’s a California King anyway, could fit the entire Avengers in here,” you’d muttered. 

He was taken aback. He’d seen you shove Thor, punch Barnes’ arm for being an ass, get into a pissing match with Tony, and almost uppercut Steve for stealing your sandwich. Accident or not, that was your damn sandwich.

And you were inviting him into your bed. 

It had started with Quentin as far away as possible. That’s how these things always start, don’t they? And soon he’d gotten closer, rolled over and not corrected his positioning. He’d told himself it was to keep a closer eye on you. Keep you safe. But when he’d woken up early one morning to your head on his chest, arm draped over him, he knew that this was it. Peter Parker taking down half his drone army and almost killing him hadn’t defeated him. Stark managing to find him and jail him in a max security unit hadn’t broken him. But you? Your form against his, using him for comfort and security, had just about shattered him. Undone by a single person.

Cut back to the present. You see him thinking and you know he’s a man on a mission. He wants Hydra gone. For what they did to you. For what you felt to this day. He’d break every single individual’s mind if he had to. A hundred soldiers? A thousand? He didn’t care. They’d all pay. Every last one of them.

You lifted a hand and brushed back some loose hair, almost snapping him back to reality, “Hey… you with me?” 

His eyes flickered, those startling blue ones the color of the waters in Bermuda. The color of tranquility. The color of a man not to be trusted and of a man capable of complete deceit. He was weak with you, though. Leaning down he rested his forehead against yours, “I’m always with you, sweetness,” his voice was low and soothing, just the way you liked. Always the thing to make you melt. But he knew that.

You did love when he called you _sweetness_. He was referring, of course, to that Jimmy Eat World song you’d always put on when you wanted to belt out some tunes of a time before Hydra. Back when you were in high school and being that emo kid. The Sweetness. He’d watched you mouth the words when you were doing idle tasks. You knew them by heart.

It had been a month since you and Quentin had been an item. But none of them knew. Natasha had her suspicions that something was going on but she had better things to do then babysit Beck. He was in Stark Tower. There was more security than god. And of course Peter was staying at home. May had made it clear that if Quentin came within a mile of her home when her nephew was present she’d beat him to death with his own drone. Lots of death threats. Couldn’t blame them.

Lifting a hand he pressed it warmly against your cheek, smiling softly. This was the Quentin no one else saw. This was the Y/N no one else saw. Costumes off. Powers gone. The two of you in a moment that was yours. 

He closed his eyes and leaned in, pressing his lips warmly against your own. You closed your eyes and wrapped both your arms around his neck as you returned the kiss, delicious and warm. Comforting. You could taste him as he parted your lips with his tongue, searching out your own as he felt the need for you growing inside of him. The two of you hadn’t… done it yet. The deed. Slept together. Fucked. He had wanted to but he had wanted you to feel safe. Any other woman and he imagined he’d have charmed them into bed. You weren’t any other woman.

The nightmare had left your mind as you pressed yourself against the man who had been protecting you in secret. The man you had fallen for despite all warnings and insistence to leave it be. Now you were in his arms, feeling his hand that had been on your face moving to your hair, raking through it as he kept you firmly in his arms and in the kiss. His other hand was on your hip, gripping it firmly. He wanted you. God, did he want you. Whatever you’d give him, he wanted it.

You felt a soft moan escape your body, muffled in the kiss, but enough to cause a deep growl from Quentin, feeling his blood beginning to get hot. His grip got tighter, that piece of him so passionate and needy flowing through him as he held you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. 

“What the FUCK is this?” A voice boomed, echoing in the room that was both yours and not. Quentin dropped his hold on you, startled, and recognizing the voice, stepping back sharply as he ended the simulation, revealing the sterile room once more. And, of course, Tony Stark standing in his black pants and Led Zeppelin shirt looking like he was ready to murder someone.

He kind of was.

You jumped slightly, “Christ on a cracker! Tony, do you knock?!” You looked at him furiously, knowing what was coming next.

“I was a little preoccupied in losing my shit over Quentin not being in the secured room. I came to let him know we had the hologram blueprints set up. Though clearly the two of you are busy. Should I come back later when you’re done being a _goddamn moron_, Y/N?” He was fuming, fists clenched.

Unbelievable. 

You glared at Tony, “You had no right bursting in here! And you’ve got absolutely no right in judging this!” Your own fists were clenched, your blood boiling. Your skin hot. Scalding.

Beck snarled as he stepped in front of you, jaw clenched, “Getting ready to take more things from me, Tony? What, you weren’t satisfied with stealing my life’s work, you’re gonna take the one thing I’ve got left that makes me happy?” He was walking now, with purpose, towards the man he had always despised.

Tony scoffed, “That’s rich. That’s fucking _rich_, Beck. You wouldn’t have been able to create anything if it hadn’t been for me, for what I gave you. And I can take it all back if that’s what you want. Throw you back in a cell for you to rot in.”

Quentin grinned. It was that grin he gave when he knew he had the upper hand. That grin that meant he thought he was the smartest man in the room, “Really, Tony? You think you can? You think you can take down that Hydra base without my expertise? Without me? You need me, and it kills you. Oh, I love this. I really do. You have no idea how much this thrills me,” he had gotten right up to Tony, leaving you behind by the bed.

It was strange to see Quentin in his true form. You’d watched him quip with Tony in the few times they’d be alone together, watched him glare and sulk, brood and narrow his eyes. Hell, you’d even heard him call Natasha “sweetheart” and subsequently watched Clint take the gun from her hand. You hadn’t seen the rage that he truly held for Tony. He’d gone after Peter, thinking Tony was gone, but now that he had the chance to best Tony at something? Hell, he’d take it.

He wasn’t done, though. Quentin kept that grin on his face, body suddenly relaxed as he tilted his head up ever so slightly, “You just want what you can’t have. Control. You’re pissed that you can’t control her, aren’t you? I bet you think she’s just another one of your fucking weapons, don’t you?”

Oof. That one stung. It stung you and Tony. He had taken to you hard, much as he had with Peter, but you were so broken. He understood that. He thought he could piece you back together. Who was Beck to try? 

Regardless, now you were furious, walking towards where both men were and sharply pushing them apart, both able to feel the pain of the heat from your skin. Both winced. Both shut the fuck up immediately.

“I want both of you gone, _now_! Quen, go help Tony with what you were supposed to be doing to begin with. Tony, don’t ever come in to my room and accuse me of poor life choices, I’m not the one who was selling missiles to terrorists. You wanna pass judgment? Fuck off. _Both of you_.” You scowled at them, watching as both barely hesitated as they walked out.

Quentin paused once he was out, turning back with a look on his face you didn’t quite recognize, however, “We’re not done with this. Not by a long shot.” 

You narrowed your eyes, confused by your sudden anger at this man who had used you as a pawn in a fight with Tony, used you to hurt him, “Oh, you’re right about that, Quentin.” You shut the door on him, calmly, cooly, and without effort. 

As Quentin walked barefoot down the hallway, however, he knew he wasn’t mad at you. No. He knew that. His words hadn’t been a threat to you. He’d never threaten you. His words were a threat to Tony. To Peter. To Cap. To Bucky. To these people who he thought were holding you back from your real potential. Who were letting you stay broken. Using your anger and fear for their own perverse need for control.

He blamed Tony, as he always did. And as he walked, boring a hole into the back of Tony’s skull, he knew he could have both revenge, and you. Revenge on Tony, on Hydra, on all those _damn_ goodie-goodie Avengers, and still keep you with him.

Quentin Beck was not letting you go.  



End file.
